


enough of you to dull the pain

by Nacht



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Complicated Relationships, Dry Sex, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacht/pseuds/Nacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros has spent long ages holding what he cannot grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	enough of you to dull the pain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me over the course of writing this fic. If you enjoy reading it, please feel free to leave a comment letting me know. Even just a couple of words would make my day.
> 
> Title is taken from Fall Out Boy's Twin Skeleton's (Hotel In NYC).

“Let me hold you,” Maedhros ordered. His words were cold and uncaring to his own ears, and he hated himself as he spoke them, but even his hatred was a hollow thing now, devoid of all of the passion and reason that had once driven him.

He tightened his fingers around Maglor’s wrist, and Maglor’s shadowed eyes were poisonous as he attempted to wrench himself free, his bones grinding together as Maedhros pinched his skin to the point of bruising.

“Let go of me,” he said, but Maedhros could not.

He was too desperate for Maglor’s comfort.

He craved it with all of his broken and bloodied remains, and didn’t know how he would continue on when Maglor’s patience shattered for the final time and left him with nothing.

His fingers spasmed.

“Maedhros,” Maglor snapped. “Release me.” 

“You should be grateful. You have no idea how much I need you,” he said, but the words still sounded meaningless, emotionless, stripped of all but their inherent, base manipulation. He shuddered.

There was a wall of ice surrounding his heart, and the heat of Maglor’s wrist was the only warmth he could feel.

“Please, let me hold you.” His thoughts raced. “Just give me this.”

“There’s nothing to be given.” Maglor’s lips pulled back from his teeth into a bitter grimace. 

“Please, brother,” Maedhros said.

“Brother,” he cut in. “You’re hurting me.”

Maedhros shuddered again, and hatred rose anew within himself when not even that was enough to make him loosen his grip. Maglor’s grimace deepened, and his eyes were so dark now that the shadows in them appeared to devour themselves. Maedhros’ lips parted, and his throat closed up.

He could not think.

Maglor’s hair was tangled around his ears, as wild as his temper. His skin was so hot that Maedhros almost believed it would burn him even as it seemed to anchor him to the living world.

He felt so detached, save for that searing lifeline.

“You’re hurting me,” Maglor repeated.

Maedhros did not so much as breathe, feeling then as though he was hesitating on the brink of a terrible fall.

He could not move.

Maglor wrenched his arm so hard he sent himself stumbling. His shoulder slammed against Maedhros’ chest, and both of them winced, though Maglor was biting back pained sounds behind his clenched teeth, and his skin was flushed from either the pain itself or from exertion.

Maedhros’ stomach roiled up in sudden sickness.

“You could draw your knife on me,” he suggested in the same ugly, empty voice as before. “You still have a hand free.”

Maglor’s eyes went wide, and he very nearly snarled.

There was a surge in his anger as it was driven into tempestuousness, and he asked, spitting out the words, “Are we so far fallen, then, that you would think to force me, and I would draw my knife on you in order to fend you off?”

Maedhros stared.

Maglor’s voice was wild and malevolent, and power leaked from it so that the air surrounding them turned oppressive, and ominousness lingered until the last echoed faded back into silence.

“You should draw your knife on me,” he said, refusing to quail. He leaned forward, and crushed their mouths together in a violent kiss.

Maglor did snarl, then.

He struck at Maedhros’ breastbone with his free hand, but rather than form a fist he grabbed at the center seam of Maedhros’ vest, and tangled his fingers into the buttons.

Maedhros closed his eyes.

The kiss continued, and Maglor whimpered.

Maedhros drew him closer. His right arm wrapped around Maglor’s back, and he leaned further forward to chase his tongue into Maglor’s mouth. Maglor’s heels hit the floor from where he’d been balanced on the tips of his toes.

He pulled them flush, and Maedhros smiled.

His smile became a grin, and his face spasmed.

Maglor’s mouth was hotter than his skin, hotter than his anger, and Maedhros took all that he could from it until the ice surrounding his heart shattered.

He wanted to laugh as he had not in years, and stars danced behind his eyes.

Maglor gave him a rough shove.

“Let go of me,” he demanded, and Maedhros blinked in confusion.

It took him too long to remember, but eventually it came back to him. He was still clutching at Maglor’s wrist, crushing it between his fingers.

He shivered, and blinked again.

“Maedhros,” Maglor said.

He sucked in a trembling breath, and part of him was terrified that Maglor would turn and run as soon as he let go.

He would let go.

He had to.

He hesitated a moment too long, and said, “Stay with me.” 

It was almost a question.

Maglor glared at him. “Where else would I go?”

Maedhros felt stricken, but he loosened his grip, releasing the tension of his fingers so that Maglor could wrench his arm free.

He didn’t.

He held himself in place, and allowed Maedhros to peel his fingers back one at a time until the dark red and inflamed skin of his wrist was revealed in full, speckled with crimson flecks where individual capillaries had broken. Maglor’s jaw twitched, and Maedhros stared. He was unsure of the mix of irritation and nausea that rose up in his stomach, and so he chose to ignore it.

Maglor gave him a knowing stare.

He held up his wrist, stretching the tendons so that Maedhros could see them twisting under his skin, and said, “I do not appreciate feeling trapped and helpless.”

“I need you,” he said.

His voice no longer sounded flat and unfeeling. It broke over the words as he spoke them with desperation poking at the ragged edges of it. He swallowed, and wished for a moment that he could die.

He leaned down for another kiss.

Maglor let him take it.

He did his best to make his lips soft and tender, tried to do something other than plunder Maglor’s mouth hard enough to leave bruises behind, and as he pulled back, he added in a whisper, “You are not helpless.”

“Aren’t I?” Maglor asked, bitter and rhetorical.

“You aren’t, of course you aren’t,” Maedhros said, or tried to, but Maglor cupped his cock through his clothes, and his breath hitched at the back of his throat, drawn out him in a long, stuttering sigh.

The tips of his ears grew hot.

Arousal poured through him, and he felt himself begin to stiffen.

Maglor stroked him with solid strength, and said, “You don’t have to reassure me. I know how much I owe you, brother.”

Maedhros should have protested.

The desperation in him was too great, though, or his strength of will worn too thin, exhausted at the last even as he himself was.

He rolled his hips into Maglor’s touch, and let any words he might have spoken, should have spoken, die on his tongue. He reached up and buried his fingers deep into the tangles Maglor’s hair.

Maglor almost smiled.

His strokes sped up, and his other hand tugged at the line of Maedhros’ vest and pulled his shirts free of his trousers until all were rucked up enough so he could slip underneath them. He palmed at Maedhros’ stomach, and smoothed his pointed, calloused fingertips across the scar tissue covering Maedhros’ ribcage.

Maedhros yanked his hair close to his scalp.

Their moans of pleasure intermixed. Maglor’s teeth bit down over the fabric covering Maedhros’ right nipple, and he turned, pillowing his forehead on Maedhros’ shoulder, mouth hanging open and eyes glazed over.

Maedhros tightened his arm across Maglor’s back. There was no space left between them, but Maglor’s rhythm stuttered on his cock, the pressure of his palm increasing to something almost unbearable. Maedhros swallowed the saliva that pooled under his tongue, and didn’t dare to breathe.

Maglor’s own arousal ground against his thigh.

He bit back a curse.

“You need me so much you’re willing to have me right here where anyone could see us, aren’t you?” Maglor said, low and smooth, made heavy by lust. “You’re so desperate to fuck me you wouldn’t stop if the whole of our guard poured into the room.”

Maedhros blushed, furious in his desire. “Shut up.”

He had none of Maglor’s words. His cock was so hard his head felt light, and curses were all that came to his tongue.

He let them out.

His fingers tore at Maglor’s hair, catching on the tangles with more force than he meant to use. Maglor cried out, and bucked his hips.

Maedhros rolled his thigh up to meet him, and Maglor cried out again.

He shook his hand free, and his tongue tripped as he said, “You know there’s more to this than that.”

He thumbed over Maglor’s cheekbone.

“Yes, there’s more.” Maglor’s face turned into his touch. “There’s more. You’re desperate for me. You need me, and you’re so afraid not to have me.” His fingernails bit into the skin over Maedhros’ ribs as he stood, rooted to the spot.

Maglor continued, darkened eyes glittering, “You’ve build me up into everything, all that you have left. You’ve transferred so many of your previous desires onto me that if I didn’t give myself up to you it would break you utterly. Wouldn’t it?”

Maedhros felt as hideous as he ever had, and it should have made him furious, or sickened, or even hurt that Maglor’s words would be so harsh and cut so deep. His temper should have risen up seeking attrition for the wound he’d been dealt, but instead he found that his lips had parted and his breathing had quickened. He was still aroused, more so than ever.

His skin was slick with sweat under his heavy clothing.

“What do you think, brother?” Maglor asked, rounding off his poisonous speech. “Does that sum of the crux of it? Was that more than enough for even you?”

Maedhros grabbed Maglor’s throat without thought, and threw him several paces back. He hit the wall, and Maedhros chased after him, crushing him against the tapestries and pining his shoulder under his right forearm. He leaned down.

Maglor’s back arched up to meet him, and Maedhros tore his lips open with his teeth.

He drove his tongue into Maglor’s mouth, swallowing down each of the small sounds that rose up in the back of his throat as he continued his rough ministrations, kissing him with enough force that the skin of Maglor’s lips split open at one corner and fresh blood pooled up. Maedhros carefully licked it away.

The taste of metal made his eyelashes flutter.

Maglor choked on a gasp.

His hands found their way under Maedhros’ clothes again. He fumbled with his belt nearly to the point of breaking it before unfastening it and squeezing Maedhros’ ass in his palms.

Maedhros’ cock poked through his trousers, pressing against Maglor’s stomach. The shock of the the cold air sent shudders down his spine, and the lack of confinement caused him to moan aloud.

He wanted to touch himself, but couldn’t bear to let go of Maglor’s neck. His pulse was drumming under his fingertips, and he could feel each and every one of his indrawn breaths, shuddering against his skin.

He thumbed over Maglor’s pulse point in indecision as Maglor kneaded his skin.

“Fuck.” His spine tingled.

“You’re okay,” Maglor said, voice buried in Maedhros’ shoulder.

“Fucking hell.” It was a whine and a protest and a plea not to stop. Maedhros’ thoughts swam, and his eyes closed.

Maglor’s palms swept down, cupping his ass and pressing the fingers of one of his hands just against the base of his cleft. The pressure made his ears burn. His skin was too hot, now, where it had started off cold as ice. His hips rolled up, and he caught himself grinding into the embroidered fabric of Maglor’s vest that covered the gentle slope of his stomach.

He thought he would faint as Maglor’s fingers ran deeper. He stroked several times over Maedhros’ opening, rubbing at the soft, tight, unsullied skin. It drove him right up to the brink, made him ache for it.

He did not want to beg.

His shoulders strained under the force of the arousal that assaulted him, and he panted roughly as Maglor’s fingers continued teasing him.

This was what he needed.

Maglor’s hands on his deepest, basest parts.

“Maglor,” he said, tripping over the name. “I need you.”

“I can feel you,” Maglor replied.

He thrust up and drove Maedhros’ cock flush against his stomach, grinding his own arousal down onto Maedhros’ thigh. Maedhros’ balls tightened, and he bit down on his own tongue as hard as he dared.

“You can feel me too, can’t you?” Maglor asked. “I want to give you what you need, brother.”

“You,” he stuttered. “That’s it. Just. You.”

“You used to be more articulate,” Maglor said, and then groaned as Maedhros twitched, flexing against his fingers which still hovered on the edge of penetration him. “You should be grateful you don’t have to win me.” 

He reached one hand forward to cup Maedhros’ testicles.

Maedhros swore.

He buried his nose into Maglor’s hair, and broke off his curses to nip and suckle at the tip of one of his ears, sweeping down the helix and sucking the lobe into his mouth.

Maglor nearly whined.

He stroked Maedhros’ balls and rubbed at his hole. His hips were thrusting in a slow, rocking rhythm against his thigh.

It was too much.

His teeth kneaded the skin of Maglor’s ear, and he muttered breathlessly, “I’ve never been articulate. Not like this.”

“I don’t believe you, Mae.” His rhythm hitched, and he cleared his throat, coughing out a gasping moan. “Maedhros.” His fingers twitched around the heat of Maedhros’ arousal.

Maedhros shuddered.

He licked across Maglor’s ear, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his temple.

“Maglor.”

“Maedhros.” Maglor laughed, a huff of air on the verge of silence.

“Whatever you would accuse me of, brother, whatever desires you see in my eyes when you stare at me with such fury, I would rather have you thoroughly in your own bed than continue our grappling in the halls.”

Maglor’s soft laughter continued. “See? You have a silver tongue. And yet I found your curses sweeter.”

There was a long pause. 

The two of them stood together, unmoving.

Their breathes drew the same air, and their bodies pressed together, forming a single line where one flowed against the other.

Maedhros had no idea of the time.

Maglor’s words picked at him, but there was also something in that the left anticipation flaring within him. The argument that has started this felt as though it had concluded hours ago, but their combined arousal was still fresh and sweet.

“We should move,” he said.

“Yes,” Maglor said, and his eyebrows lifted in a taunt. “We should.”

Maedhros groaned in frustration as Maglor’s hands dragged from his arousal, away from his cleft, and he chewed his own lips to stave off the urge to wrestle them back into place, to throw Maglor harder into the wall and have his way with him then and there.

Maglor’s hands settled on his hips.

He breathed.

Maglor’s eyes were lidded, and there were high spots of dark color flushed across his cheekbones. His lips were very close to the same shade, bruised dark red, and Maedhros could see the cracked skin at their corner still shining with a thin film of wet blood.

He lifted his fingers to touch the split.

Maglor turned his head in avoidance.

“You should brush your hair,” Maedhros said, instead caressing the tangled locks that framed his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it properly washed and braided.

Maglor’s lips twitched. “I should cut it all off. It hardly matters now.”

There was nothing suitable he could think to say in response. He wrapped several more strands around his fingers, following the natural flow of Maglor’s curls. The texture was rough where the worst of the knots came together, but the rest was still as soft as velvet and as dark as ink.

He wanted, suddenly, to make it perfect again.

His breath ghosted out of him in a deep sigh, and he dropped his head, lowering his eyes until he could barely see.

“Will you let me take you to bed?” he asked.

Maglor’s hands tightened on his hips.

He seemed torn between something a scathing dig at Maedhros for playing at honor so long after he’d lost all right to it, and a quiet acquiescence of the illusion Maedhros longed to create.

He eventually shook his head, but when he spoke, he said, “Yes, fine. Take me, brother.”

Maedhros felt the saliva dry in his mouth.

The two of them took long minutes to untangle themselves. Maedhros’ sense of time was still uncertain. There could have been hours between his fingers unwinding from Maglor’s hair, and Maglor’s hands straightening their vests, doing up the buckle of Maedhros’ belt.

He did not know, only that it was agonizing to wait.

They attempted to stay away from one another as they walked, but Maedhros caught himself several times reaching out for Maglor’s elbow, or brushing his hand against the backs of his knuckles.

Maglor’s shoulder bumped his every time they turned a corner.

“We don’t have much time before the sun rises,” he said with an idleness neither of them truly felt.

“No,” Maedhros said.

They stood in the shadows created by the entrance to Maglor’s room. The tension wavered, and broke as Maglor threw the doors open.

Maedhros closed them as soon as they were inside.

Maglor’s face, turned partially away from him, was illuminated by the cold light of the moon streaming in through the thin curtains that covered the windows. There was nothing else, no fire in the grate and no candles to be lit.

They had grown used to the shadows.

“You’re beautiful,” Maedhros whispered.

“Where do you want me?”

Maedhros did not reply using words. There was too great a chance of ensnaring them both in Maglor’s residual bitterness.

He sat down on the bed, and gestured for Maglor to come to him.

Maglor did.

He unbuttoned his vest. His arousal was still smoldering, and it made the fine movements, each twist of his thumb, more difficult. Maglor took over for him on the last button, covering Maedhros’ hand with his own.

He slid his shirt and undershirt off in the same motion after shrugging the vest from his shoulders, and kicked the pile of fabric to the side.

Maedhros drank in the sight of his naked chest.

His skin was luminous, unmarred save for the occasional line that shone a brighter, more brilliant silver than the rest of him. His shoulders were thin but powerful, his arms muscular from constant strife. His nipples stood out, dusk brown and hard against the cool night air.

He licked his lips.

 Maglor’s eyes followed him. 

He stepped closer into the space between Maedhros’ legs, and leaned forward. His hands busied themselves with stripping him of his garments, pushing them down onto the covers of the bed, and pulling Maedhros’ arms free.

He kissed him, and Maedhros suckled his tongue as it lavished attentions on his mouth, as soft and patient as Maedhros had been harsh and rough before.

He felt guilt swell up in his thoughts again.

Maglor’s teeth nicked the inside of his lip, and Maedhros hissed.

“I can hear you thinking,” he said, slurring the words against his tongue.

“We’re not that close.”

Maglor wrenched open his belt. “Closer now than we were.”

Maedhros cried out when Maglor took him in his bare hand. His cock had been hard or half hard for long enough that the touch was almost painful. He shuddered, and Maglor shushed him in the middle of a kiss, humming into his mouth so that the sound tickled the back of his throat.

His fingers swept up the underside of his cock, and circled the head.

Maedhros panted into his mouth.

Maglor turned, breaking their long kiss and spitting into his other hand. He stroked Maedhros’ cock, slicking his skin. Maedhros thrust up into the ring of his fingers and palm, and felt himself surrounded by wet heat. His muscles gave out, and he went down onto his elbows, throwing his head back, exposing the long line of his throat.

Maglor watched him with dark, impassive eyes, but Maedhros could feel the cloaked passion that burned within them.

Maybe the two of them were closer, now.

“Close enough to share thoughts,” Maglor said, and Maedhros’ breath hitched in astonishment even as pleasure ate at him, the rhythm of Maglor’s hand riding him closer and closer to the brink.

His left hand dug into the covers, fingernails tearing at the threads.

He stuttered, rough and nearly inaudible, “Too close.” He shook his head, tossing his hair across his collarbones, sticking the strands to his jaw. “Maglor, please, I’m going to come.”

Maglor gave him a vicious squeeze.

“Fuck,” Maedhros hissed, and fell flat against the bedspread.

He was quivering, he realized, dazed, sudden pain shoving back his release though pleasure still flushed hot all throughout him. He raised the stump of his right arm to his mouth and panted against it, biting his own skin where scar tissue left it numb.

Maglor’s hand held his arousal fast.

He was crooning shushing sounds, soft and melodious, and Maedhros panted all the harder to hear them.

He drew in a deep breath, and said, “You’re cruel.”

“Am I?” Maglor asked, distracted but pleased, and let go of his cock.

Maedhros bucked the air, biting his forearm harder to hide the cries that welled up in his throat at the loss of contact. He wanted to curse, but Maglor was staring at him with too much amusement for him to work out something that wouldn’t sound ridiculous to both their ears.

He glared through a haze of anger and need as Maglor unlaced his own trousers, toeing off his boots and stripping himself until he stood naked beside the bed.

He was beautiful, and some of Maedhros’ frustration ebbed.

His tangled hair fell around his ribs, hiding his nipples and tumbling over his strong arms and sharp elbows. His stomach was soft and smooth, his thighs muscular and tense, framing his aroused cock as it stood from its thatch of black curls.

His long, elegant fingers threaded through his hair and twisted it into a rope which he swung carelessly behind his shoulder.

He dropped to his knees.

Maedhros felt as he peeled off his boots and socks, and went to work on his trousers. His fingers clung with increasing desperation to the bedspread as Maglor stripped him of all his clothing, and rose again to stand before him, in the shadow of his splayed legs.

The moonlight cascaded over him, lighting his skin with a silver glow.

There was a softness visible in his eyes, now, and he stared down at Maedhros with the same fascination that was evident in Maedhros’ obsessive observation of him.

“You always were something to look at,” Maglor told him. “You used to leave all of us so jealous. We idolized you, our perfect big brother.”   
“Maglor,” Maedhros begged.

“This must have been inevitable even back then.” Maglor laughed, nothing more than an exhale of breath. “Don’t you think?”

He shook his head, gestured for him to come closer. “You shouldn’t say such things. This is my fault. My perversion.” He swallowed. “My need for you.”   
Maglor smiled a small, sharp smile that made his nose crinkle.

Maedhros gestured again.

Maglor crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips. “That first time, I was the one who came to you in your bed, or don’t you remember?”

“I remember.” His eyes fluttered closed at the press of Maglor’s bare skin against his own. His cock jumped, and he reached for Maglor’s right thigh with his hand, stroking down the length of it.

Maglor’s cheeks flushed with color.

He leaned down, and dragged Maedhros into a wet kiss.

Maedhros’ hand tightened on his thigh even as he relaxed his mouth, tongued at Maglor’s lips. He lifted the stump of his right arm, brushed it against Maglor’s shoulder and around his neck, pulling him closer.

Maglor shivered.

Maedhros could feel his skin break out into ripples of gooseflesh as he touched him, but Maglor leaned in where Maedhros expected him to retreat, and he twisted their tongues together in a single, smooth motion.

Saliva dripped from Maedhros’ chin.

Maglor’s tangled hair spilled back around his face, curtaining them in waves of darkness.

“Do you still need me?” he asked, hushed against his lips.

“Yes,” Maedhros said.

It laid like a confession between them, a stark truth for only their ears, and Maglor’s eyes seemed to come alight with a strange fire to hear it. His mouth moved down the line of Maedhros’ jaw, leaving hot, wet trails where his tongue pressed against his skin.

Maedhros stuttered as he said, continuing a long string of similar thoughts, “Always, brother.”

“Then will you take me?” Maglor rolled his hips back, pressing Maedhros’ cock close to the cleft of his ass. He suckled at the hollow point at the base of Maedhros’ neck, and bent farther forward, huddling in on himself, so that he could tongue Maedhros’ left nipple into his mouth moments later.

Maedhros might have come undone in that moment, so beautiful was it.

He threw his head back, and thrashed. His hips thrust up to meet Maglor’s, but the brief hint of contact was not enough.

Fire blazed through his veins.

Maglor’s teeth and tongue worked him over, one of his hands massaging hs other nipple, rolling the nub of skin back and forth, scratching at his areola and the scar tissue surrounding it.

His nails bit into Maglor’s thigh.

He couldn’t control his strength or his thoughts or the surge of arousal threatening to overtake him.

He was enthralled by his own pleasure.

His back arched.

He tightened the muscles of his arms and used the leverage of his hips to flip them. Maglor’s mouth broke from his skin in jarring shock, and he moved, a fraction too slow, scrambling for purchase even as Maedhros loomed over him. It took him several moments to relax, to release the tension threading his shoulders.

Maedhros felt a brief flicker of chagrin at the lack of warning he’d offered, but then he found himself pressing a line of nipping kisses down the center of Maglor’s chest to his abdomen, dipping lower.

He was still consumed, flushed with arousal, his desire and need pressing in close.

Maglor’s legs splayed at his hips, knees rucking up and tucking in close, exposing himself with wanton grace as Maedhros’ mouth trailed tantalizingly close to his cock.

He did not take it.

Maglor’s eyelashes fluttered.

His skin was stained red as spilt wine, from the delicate points of his ears down to the plain of his chest.

Maedhros kissed his sac and let his tongue linger there. His scent was enticing, the musk of his arousal permeating Maedhros’ senses until he felt lost under the weight of it. The tangled, shredded vestiges of his once innocent, familial love clawing into his heart and refusing to let go of him.

He sat back, and hauled Maglor half onto his lap.

Maglor’s hands reached up behind his head, fisting into the covers of the bed. He tucked his knees further towards his chest, and when Maedhros caught his eyes he could see his own fire reflected in them.

He delved deeper.

His tongue circled Maglor’s hole, and Maglor keened, the sound of pure pleasure dancing like motes of sunshine in the air, sweet as falling flower petals or flakes of untainted snow. Maedhros’ saliva dripped from him as his breath caught, and he slid the stump of his wrist down Maglor’s thigh, gripping his right knee in his let hand to hold him in place.

Maglor’s taste was overwhelming.

He washed him in his saliva, licking and sucking until Maglor’s hole was loose enough for him to penetrate it with his tongue.

He pushed inside.

Maglor’s keens took on an edge of desperation, moving lower into his chest from his throat, shifting the sound. He didn’t curse, but his head thrashed from side to side, shaking as though in denial of his current state.

Maedhros drove in with his tongue, twisting it, fucking him on it until he hit on an angle that had Maglor thrusting up to meet him. He was slick with saliva from Maedhros’ mouth now, and Maedhros burned to have him.

His lips suckled, and his hand curled tighter around Maglor’s knee.

Maglor opened his mouth, a shout catching and tearing loose before he could smother it, but when he spoke his voice came out in barely a whisper, “Maedhros, for the love of everything.” 

It cracked through him, filling him up with insatiable desire.

He didn’t move immediately. He kept his nose buried in Maglor’s sac, his tongue still lavishing his hole.

But his fingers slid from Maglor’s knee, and when he pulled back it was to slick them in his mouth, drooling over them as Maglor’s stomach twitched underneath him with suppressed shaking.

He looked as desperate as Maedhros had ever seen him.

He pressed in with two fingers.

Maglor’s eyes rolled back in his head, his chest still flushed scarlet as it heaved, drawing in deep breaths that did not stop his cock from twitching.

He could not wait. Neither of them could.

Maglor pushed down onto him, swallowing Maedhros’ fingers, and Maedhros thrust up into him in return, piercing him and forcing him open.

It must have burned, but Maglor’s face belied nothing but pleasure.

His mouth open and closed with only whispering moans to show for his efforts, and he thrashed his head, tossing his hair across his chest. He did not stop trying to take more of Maedhros’ fingers.

He tried to keep him slick, adding more of his own spit as he continued to work him over, but the friction was still decadent, nearly overwhelming.

“Can you take me?” he asked, and knew not how many minutes had passed.

His cock was rock hard and aching between his legs, his hair soaked with sweat where it hung in limp threads against his jaw.

He looked down, and saw that Maglor’s own arousal was leaking clear droplets onto his stomach.

He swallowed heavily.

Maglor shook his head, tossing it again mindlessly, but said, “You need me, Maedhros. Give yourself to me.”

He bit his lip then, cutting off the rest of his words.

His teeth came away spotted with blood.

Maedhros watched, entranced.

He slicked his cock with more spit, the motions skittering, agonizing as he struggled not to let himself go.

Maglor’s skin paled when he was breeched, but he reached for Maedhros, holding his shoulder and tangling his fingers into his hair, pulling him in and down, closer, closing the space between their bodies until they were fully joined.

The heat was incredible.

Maglor was so tight, even relaxing against him.

He panted against Maglor’s brow, kissed his forehead as he forced himself to remain still.

“Move,” Maglor sung to him. “Stop holding back.” 

Maedhros seized, muscles drawing tight. He shook his head, but Maglor continued to murmur to him, urging him on.

He moved.

Soft at first, but soon growing fast and desperate.

The friction was overwhelming, now, and Maedhros knew that it was burning both of them, consuming them like fire itself.

Maglor’s hands fisted harder in his hair, low, humming moans rising in his throat as Maedhros fucked him. He laced his feet behind Maedhros’ back, squeezing his hips between his powerful thighs.

Maedhros didn’t dare touch him.

Any more contact between them would have unravelled him instantly.

He focused on his thrusts, on the rhythm he set.

He wasn’t going to last long. He was too hot for it, had been denied for too long. He cried out, and one of Maglor’s hands slipped from his hair. Maedhros could feel him jacking himself off, stroking his own arousal between their bodies.

His own mind was a frenzy of lust.

He peaked out from between his lidded eyes, taking in Maglor’s flushed, bruised throat, his swollen lips. His eyes were shut, but his eyelashes would flutter and kiss his cheeks when Maedhros thrust into him.

He was undone by the sight, and he came hard enough to see stars, emptying himself into Maglor’s hole.

Hot seed sluiced around his cock, making his last shaking thrusts slick and wet.

Maglor moaned openly under him.

Maedhros braced himself on his forearm, and reached between them, adding his hand to Maglor’s and doubling his rhythm. Maglor’s eyes snapped open, and his neck stretched back. He came without sound, noiselessly and breathlessly, chest heaving and shaking as liquid spurted onto both of their stomachs.

He kissed him, and their hands tangled together, fingers clasped and clinging harder than either of them meant to at first.

Maglor’s teeth bumped his.  
 Maedhros softened his mouth, let Maglor draw his tongue into his mouth.

He felt sated and yet still too warm for comfort.

The moonlight was thin where it spilled through the curtains now, and Maglor’s face was shadowed from him.

He kissed with clinging affection.

Maglor did not stop him.

The two of them sprawled out in each other’s arms for some time after that. Maedhros rolled off to one side, eventually, and their knees brushed as their fingers continued to twine in a firm handclasp.

Bruises were still blooming and darkening along Maglor’s throat.

Neither of them made to pull back the blankets. Maedhros wasn’t sure Maglor would even allow him a place in his bed for more than just sex.

He shivered.

Maglor’s shadowed eyes tracked the movement.

“Your bitter thoughts can’t return so soon after I’ve sacrificed myself to chase them back, brother,” he said.

He shivered all the harder at that, despite the joking tone.

Maglor pushed himself up onto his elbow.

“I apologize,” Maedhros said, empty and hollow, and traced the skin of Maglor’s wrist where he’d squeezed so hard earlier, during the last rejoinders of their argument, the one that Maedhros had twisted into lust rather than continue. 

Maglor’s eyebrows flickered upwards, and he corrected, “You don’t.”

Maedhros frowned.

“You mustn’t apologize for losing your temper with me, or I shall be forced to apologize for teasing you,” Maglor said, and his expression was a curious mix of utter seriousness and lazy, wicked amusement.

“Your teasing is rather mean spirited,” he said, returning the barb from somewhere outside of himself, feeling his breath hitch.

“Yes,” Maglor said. “So it’s always been.”

Maedhros didn’t call him out for bending the truth, for there was no need to point out between the two of them how much they had changed. He lifted their hands, and trailed kisses around Maglor’s wrist.

Maglor reached out, and slicked Maedhros’ sweaty, flyaway hair from his forehead.

“Brother,” he murmured.

Maglor kissed him on the cheek. “Brother.”

There was another long, affectionate silence between them, and then Maglor added, “You can stay and watch me if you want. If it makes you feel better.”

It wouldn’t, but Maedhros nodded his head anyway.

Maglor untangled their hands, and slipped under the blankets at last, turning until he was on his stomach and gazing up at Maedhros with shadowed eyes. Maedhros thought he might speak then, but he smiled instead, and did not interrupt the silence.

Maedhros stroked his hair, picking apart the tangles.

Now, Maglor broke the silence. “Are you going to braid it?”

His hand stilled.

“Would you let me?” he asked.

Maglor gave the briefest nod of his head.

It took Maedhros several minutes to find a comb. It wasn’t one of the old ones brought over on the ships. Those had been beautiful remnants of a phase the twins had gone through when they were young, carved of bone and inlayed with silver and gold, given as gifts year after year to each of their brothers until they’d grown bored and moved onto other things.

This one was simpler and less refined, serviceable and nothing more. Maglor might have traded for it with any number of tribes.

Maedhros fingered it as he settled back onto the bed, and then began to run it through Maglor’s hair in small sections, starting from the scalp and working down to the ends.

Maglor didn’t wince even when he snagged at the worst of the tangles, which Maedhros quickly realized were beyond his ability to repair. He seemed utterly undone and at peace, sunken into the mattress and unmoving aside from the gentle rise and fall of his breaths.

The moonlight was faded from the room now, and Maedhros could barely see enough to do his work.

He dodged around the bits that were too snarled to work through, picking them out and setting them aside so that at least the rest would be smooth enough to braid again. He moved the comb between his mouth and his hand as he worked, going back and forth between separating the initial strands with his fingers, and brushing them into submission.

It had been centuries at least since he’d done this.

It felt almost too intimate, far more than their frenzied sex, which was driven as it always was by Maedhros’ lust and perversion, and the debt that Maglor still felt he owed him.

He shivered.

He ran the comb through Maglor’s glossy black locks one last time, and divided them into three large, thick sections.

Braiding was more difficult than it had been, but far from impossible.

His stump braced Maglor’s hair, maintaining the tension, and his left hand wove. He couldn’t resist letting his fingers linger amongst the strands, arranging them with care so that the simple braid took far longer than it needed to.

It reached Maglor’s lower back when it was finished, and Maedhros tied it off.

He stared for a moment.

Maglor’s breathing was still even, coming from deep within his chest. He didn’t move. He looked half fallen into reverie, lying there under the blankets, and Maedhros wished he would give up on that final tether to the waking world and allow himself to rest.

“You should sleep,” he muttered.

Maglor exhaled, hushed. “There’s no time.”

Maedhros traced the helix of his ear with his fingers. He was right, of course. There was perhaps two hours left until the sun began to rise in full.

“You deserve to sleep,” he said anyway.

“No, I don’t,” Maglor said. “No more than you do.”

Maedhros almost argued, but it felt too much like slipping into the past. He would rather enjoy the peace.

They would fight again soon enough without him chasing it.


End file.
